


Two is a Lonely Number

by Sonamae



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Bug Dancing, Buggy Romance, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5052922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonamae/pseuds/Sonamae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob and Waspinator love each other very much, they're just a bit lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two is a Lonely Number

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nothumanafterall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothumanafterall/gifts).



> Gift commission for Nothumanafterall, enjoy this delightful fluff

Finding a fellow Insect Mecha on Cybertron was hard enough after the Swarm became so unpopular, but finding one on _Earth_ after an unexpected crash landing? Bob was beyond delighted to have met Waspinator, and the two of them spent the first few days awkwardly creep around one another until it seemed to be a mutual attraction. Bob had memorized the feel of Waspinator’s palms and feelers by now, and their dancing had gotten frantic enough that they’d both laid down on the ground against one another in defeat.

Neither of them spoke aloud about anything very often, but it still seemed to be a relationship worth pursuing. Bob kept his silence because he preferred not to talk, and Waspinator… well, Bob wasn’t a mind reader. Whatever reason Waspinator had for talking as little as he did it was his own.

Bob didn’t care though, it was nice to lay in silence with someone who wasn’t going to judge you or try and kill you. Waspinator must have known how it felt because he trembled just as much as Bob had at the first touch. The mecha they normally met were surrounded by fields of fear, but slowly the two of them came together and meshed until fear was the last thing on their mind. Now they were on the same page, at least Bob assumed, and they were kin in a way that made romance comfortable.

Still, while this mecha shared his sub type, he was still a stranger. Waspinator was a Decepticon, Bob was a rejected member of The Swarm, those two factions didn’t really see optic to optic anymore. Not that Bob ever saw optic to optic with The Swarm to begin with, but he was still  _apart_ of it. In a way. It was very complicated, lots of hand waving.

Their relationship turned romantic none the less, and what few clipped words they spoke aloud were more than made up for by the hard line connections they would make at night. Their life seemed perfect.

Waspinator’s wings fluttered suddenly in a flicker of agitation and caught Bob’s attention, so he crooned and scooted his face closer to the other mecha, bumping their mandibles together in a show of comfort. Bob didn’t know what was going on through the others processor, but he could at least show his support this way.

Whatever had been bothering Waspinator, Bob’s crooning and occasional face nuzzling seemed to cheer him up. Soon Waspinator was laughing softly and closing tired optics against the sun that poured through the treetop canopy.

Poor mecha, what had he been through before this?

Bob reached out with one of main arms, his paw resting over Waspinator’s hand and nearly engulfing it as he hesitantly attempted to twine their fingers together. Waspinator flinched at first, but eventually followed suit and sifted closer to Bob‘s chassi. They were quiet again, basking in one another, and Bob was happy.

Sort of. It was an on the surface kind of happy. Not that Waspinator wasn’t a good partner, he was an amazing partner! Just… long after they’d started talking and sharing their lives through hard lines and dance, Bob felt a heavy wave of loneliness he only ever felt once a century.

He wanted a nest, and not just the kind they slept in. Bob wanted the comfort of three or four partners in his berth, the adoration his hive put into taking care of young before letting them go to make their own way and kill their own food and live their own lives. All members of the Swarm felt this, and all of them could speak to one another through their internal frequencies about who they wanted.

… All of them except _Bob_.

He’d never understood why he’d been born with the wrong frequency, never understood why that meant his own Carrier had wanted him out of the nest before any of their other brood. Bob had been hunted and attempted to be killed all his life, and every century when the need to breed flickered into his systems he could only watch from afar as he made a nest by himself and lay in it.

Lonely. Miserable. Suffering from spark-ache.

But now he _wasn’t_ alone, he had Waspinator, and that was _twice_ as many partners than he’d _ever_ had before.

Something was still missing though. Or maybe it was someone? Bob knew he was lucky just to have Waspinator, but his entire species was about multi-partner relationships, and so was Waspinator’s.

Sort of?

Actually, Bob had no idea how Waspinator’s sub-species handled relationship dynamics. Waspinator never really talked about it, he kept most of himself closed off unless Bob asked or he felt it was important. Bob had always figured it was just the way Waspinator was, sweet but also absent minded.

Bob stared at his partner as Waspinator kicked at the bedding and frowned. He was going through his own cycle, the one where he wanted to tear the nest down and rebuild it in case of eggs. Eggs they had yet to have, if they even could.

“Wasp… happy?” Bob asked quietly as he reached out with one of his smaller hands. His partner looked up in shock, face relaxing as he lowered his head to tuck beneath the small hand for a pat.

“Wazzpinator izz alwayzz happy with Bob.” His voice was syrupy sweet, but he tilted his head slowly as his optics looked up at Bob in sudden confusion. “Izz… Izz Bob happy with Wazzpinator?” This time there was an edge of fear in his voice.

“Love Wasp, _my_ Wasp. Love love _love_.” Bob laughed as he outstretched all four of his arms and leaned forward to wrap himself around Waspinator’s torso. How could he _not_ love him?

“Love Bob too.” Waspinator whispered as he wrapped his arms around him, fingers tucked under Bob’s wing plates. “But zzomething,” his hissed the beginning of the word and grunted, helm shaking before he could continue, “izz bothering Bob. What izz? Can Wazzpinator fix? Bob want to talk about it? ”

Bob hadn’t realized his internal mourning was that obvious. He wiggled and shifted until the two of them were reclining comfortably across the edge of their nest, and with one of his smaller hands he pulled his hardline cable out of his side and held it in offering.

There were some things Bob just knew he couldn’t express with words.

Waspinator held no hesitation as he unhooked his armor and reached into the side. His hands clacked and thumped against the inside plating of his chassi armor for a while, but eventually he tugged his arm back and pulled out his own abused hardline cord. Bob crooned at the sight of it, worried about what kind of past held such scuffs and scars on a hardline cord. Even if this wasn’t his first time seeing that hardline cord, those marks always made him want to reach into the past and punch people.

With all four fists and everything.

Waspinator was gentle as he took Bob’s own cable and clicked them together. There was a second where they both flinched at the initial connection, Waspinator’s cord not having the neatest wiring, but they easily slumped together and wrapped their EM fields as they slipped into the hardline world.

Once there, Bob swam through the flow of code and tugged at the familiar presence that he knew was Waspinator in his systems. Waspinator tugged back and they spent a few minutes basking in that feeling of familiar and safe, then Bob pulled Waspinator in until the sea of code became a backdrop to their comfort.

Bob laid out all of his current emotions about this turn of the century event as neatly as he could, and then waved at it freely for Waspinator to dive into.

Which Waspinator did very happily.

Occasionally he would slip up through the wads of data and ask about certain things by holding the codes or memories up, and Bob would explain it beside them before sweeping it back into the pile. Bob curled around Waspinator’s presence when the memories of millennia of loneliness and the gut feeling of isolation washed over them both.

He knew outside of the hardline he was making the most miserable sounds, but in here they were simple emotions, memories of a life he’d been stuck with. Waspinator crooned and eventually wiped them away, constructing a memory of his own of the two of them together.

There was no doubt that seeing yourself through someone else’s optics was strange, but the flood of love and devotion that came with it was almost enough to drown Bob. He honestly had no idea Waspinator could love him _that_ much, but then again he hadn’t thought _anyone_ could love him that much.

Bob felt the swell of love curl around him like a blanket, and he chittered out of reflex. The love being poured over him felt like he was being lifted into the air, like he was flying with it.

He looked down into the sea of code and saw Waspinator at the bottom, fidgeting and holding something close to his chest. There was still that telltale sign of a smile on his face, the sweet twitch and curve of that beautiful color Bob associated with purely Waspinator.

Floating down, he slowly nudged at the memory that Waspinator was holding, and reluctantly the other mecha held it out. The lines of code around it were worn and kept twitching and fading, but Bob could tell that this was something that had been taken extreme care of even though it was worse for ware. He curled into Waspinator’s presence and watched the memory play out.

The images came with imprints, huge and basic but getting the point across. There was no way to describe them properly, no way to give them the justice they deserved.

Brood. Hive. Fire. Death. Lost. Where? Alone? Others? Not like me… Brood?

Waspinator was longing for more just as much as Bob was. His Brood, his _Carrier_ , they had crafted thousands of little ones in a field nest and watched the other mecha leave. The sight was extended as far as those infant eyes could take in, blinking slowly over and over as warmth nuzzled his cheek. A carrier that loved Waspinator more than anything else.

Then there was a fire, mecha made or otherwise Bob wasn’t sure, but Waspinator had been scooped up with an armful of others and flown away somewhere. His carrier had flown back for more of their Brood, but when Waspinator looked around there was no one with him.

He had waited. He had waited for so long he nearly died of starvation, but then he’d found others. They weren’t like him, they didn’t like him, they…

Bob turned away from the memory and curled into Waspinator’s field.

Waspinator simply folded the memory up and wrapped around Bob. They soaked one another up and agreed they would do their best to look for at least one more partner, not just for Bob, but for Waspinator.

They would have a Brood of their own one day, only they wouldn’t be alone.

\--

A week after their hardline discussion, Waspinator and Bob were out hunting for new nesting material when they stumbled across a goldmine. Not literally though, they never stumbled on those, they found them and _avoided_ them. Bob disliked the taste of gold.

What they _had_ found though was some strange junk yard, a field full of useless scrap no one was taking care of that was covered with vines and dust. They agreed only to take what they could carry and come back later on, feeling oddly uneasy here.

After an hour of collecting, they met up and nuzzled against each other, showing the other their finds and chittering sweetly over the new additions to their nest.

And that was when the organic saw them.

They had just walked around the corner when they spotted Bob and Waspinator. The little figures reactions wasn’t to scream, but instead was to gasp, alerting them both to the organics presence. Bob instantly started hissing, hackles raised as Waspinator fluttered his wings and began buzzing.

The organic just stood there, mouth open.

“Uhh.” It didn’t advance, nor did it run in fear, but Bob could tell Waspinator was a second from bolting the instant the organic so much as flinched toward them. “Fixit… do you guys come in… bug variants?” The organic said in a whisper that was very obviously _not_ a whisper.

The sound of wheels approaching had Waspinator kick off the ground, but Bob was curious. Said curiosity had gotten him shot at several times, but something just wasn’t right about this organics reaction to them.

“Bug variants? I sink-pink- _think_ so, yes. Why…” A small orange mecha turned the corner, his optics flicking up from his datapad and catching sight of Waspinator in the air and Bob as he finally kicked off the ground, “oh. That’s why.”

Bob had trouble tearing his optics away from the blues of the little orange mecha as he stared. There wasn’t a drop of hatred or fear, there wasn’t a bit of judgment, just… kind-sparked curiosity. Bob huffed his vents and turned back to Waspinator and flew closer as they escaped.

“Wazz Autobot.” Waspinator muttered. “Autobotzz mean.” He hugged the armful of metal closer to his chest and Bob tried not to smile.

“He not.” He said simply. Waspinator huffed, but Bob caught himself turning around the try and catch the hint of orange in the distance. “Interested.” He finally decided.

Waspinator nearly fell out of the sky in shock.

\--

“No. Autobotzz are no.” They had arrived back at the nest and Waspinator was stripping it to bare bones and support beams.

“Yes.” Bob said, trying to hide his smile. Waspinator was far too adamant to actually be opposed.

Not about the Autobot thing, Bob knew Waspinator and Autobots had the worst kind of history. Waspinator was merely making a fuss because… well, that was just Waspinator. Fuss a little, enjoy the playful argument, then say yes.

Today’s playful argument was lasting longer than normal though.

“No.” Waspinator whined exaggeratedly and tore apart a thick piece of metal so he could chew on the end. Bob just smiled and rolled over on the floor, picking at the wire scraps they had. “Bob.” Waspinator whined again and Bob just shrugged.

“Yes.” He said it as if it were a reminder. Waspinator buzzed and huffed, his fans sputtering as he kicked a beam of metal. After a few minutes of fussing about and huffing, Waspinator dropped to the floor to lay next to Bob and bury his face under one of his arms. Bob looked over and smirked. “Yes?” He teased.

“Yezz.” Waspinator said reluctantly. There was such a heavy dose of petulance in his voice that Bob couldn’t help but laugh and lean over to give Waspinator a kiss.

“Happy Wasp agrees. So smart, great idea.” Bob said with a smile. Waspinator shoved him back to the floor with a laugh.

\--

Waspinator raided one of those awful gold mines in the weeks that followed, gathering not just chunks of gold but any jewel he could find. He crafted energon treats and weaved designs into little trinkets, specialized tools that were made with that extra level of love. Bob was delighted by the amount of effort Waspinator was putting into the future of their courting, and so he spent a good amount of time scoping out the little orange mecha.

His name was Fixit and he lived in an Autobot outpost that honestly wasn’t that guarded. Bob was surprised every day that the little scrap yard hadn’t been overrun yet, but he also thought as if he were still in The Swarm. The Swarm saw anything without walls higher than two mecha as a naked space to invade.

Fixit was apart of the guard detail that had been transporting the Alchemor, or he _was_ the guard, Bob wasn’t sure. Whatever the case was, the little one was underappreciated and tasked with manning far too many projects all by himself. The other bots were kind to him to an extent, but there was still a level of awkwardness that they held around the little one that left Bob’s plating raised.

Fixit had a job though, and that meant he had a purpose. If Bob could make that job easier… maybe Fixit would have time for a relationship.

Finding stasis pods was honestly one of the easier tasks he’d had to do, and they weren’t that heavy either. With Waspinator’s help, he would drag a pod to the gates with Waspinator’s gifts and a simple note that said ‘To Fixit, with love.’

They kept this up, occasionally watching from the sidelines as Fixit grew more and more flustered, blushing more and more. His teammates teased him, much to the ire of Waspinator, but Bob could see it was all in good humor.

At least it better be.

There was a weight of confusion that came with keeping their advances secret at first, but after a while they started noticing Fixit seemed to look forward to his daily gifts. The thought delighted them both, the possibility of a new mate, of one more for their nest.

Bob came early one day with Waspinator and saw the damage that Fixit was trying to repair on one of his friends. He could overhear their conversation enough to enrage him. The local Decepticons were stepping out of line, and Bob made sure to get permission from his lover before doing what needed to be done to put them back in their place.

After all, Bob hadn’t left any _proper_ gifts yet. He wouldn’t could the stasis pods, that was just clearing space in the woods.

Bob happily found and beat five Decepticons after a day o watching for their patrols, and he paralyzed each and every one of them in awkward, compromising positions. Why not have fun with it? If they were going to be mean, he would too.

Waspinator went with him to set them up outside the gates, but apparently Fixit had finally had enough with anonymity. He’d burst through the front gate with a blaster, uncocked and not even charged, and stood there staring in bafflement as Waspinator dropped the Decepticon he’d been holding.

They fell flat on their face and _groaned_.

Bob chittered in excitement, skittering to Waspinator’s side and reaching for his hand.

“You… it’s been _both_ of you?” Fixit asked, eyeing the frozen Decepticon’s as their optics darted around in confusion. “This entire mine-chime- _time_ ,” he shook his head, “it’s been the two of you… doing all of this? Why?” Fixit was blushing as he asked, and Waspinator grinned as his wings unfurled.

“Wazzpinator and Bob courting you.” Waspinator said, as if it was the most obvious thing. Because honestly it _was_ , and it needed to be made as clear as possible.

“Yes.” Bob chirped. “Court Fixit, get answer. We dance for you?” He watched as Waspinator’s wings fluttered in excitement.

Fixit’s face enflamed and he stammered before covering his face. “M-Me?” His bafflement was adorable. “Wait-what? You’re _courting_ … me? Of all mecha? And what does dancing have to boo-moo- _do_ with it?” Fixit peered through his fingers, his wheels rolling him a few inches back.

He wasn’t opposed so far. From the looks of it he was interested, if not embarrassed.

That alone made Bob flutter into the air.

“We dance. You say yes.” Bob said as he twisted his body with the small flutter of air around him. His feet touched the ground and Fixit make the cutest squeak.

“I…” Fixit looked delightfully flustered, “I need time to think about this! I just met you two, I need time and to get to know you!”

Waspinator laughed and stepped closer, palms facing the sky. “Then Wazzpinator and Bob dance before you think?” He waited, his patience making Bob’s spark sore.

Slowly, Fixit looked between the two of them, then back at the gate. There were thoughts rushing around in his head, but eventually he made up his mind and nodded at the two of them.

“Okay… okay you can dance for me.” Fixit whispered, hands still covering his face plates. Bob felt his spark swell in his chest and wasted no time beginning a dance with Waspinator. He was weaving in and around a field with Waspinator, coordinating their passes and showing off the best way the two of them knew how. All they needed was a yes, a sigh of interest, anything.

When they settled against one another at the end of the dance, Fixit’s hands had lowered from his face and rested against his chest. He looked taken aback, but Bob couldn’t blame him.

They _were_ pretty damn impressive.

After a few minutes of silence, Waspinator fidgeted and looked back at Bob, then over to Fixit.

“Well? Date uzz firzzt?” He asked, twitching but hopeful. Fixit’s face flushed once again.

“Ah, umm… ah…” Fixit looked around as if grasping for help. “A-Ask me tomorrow.” He quickly scurried behind the door, then after a few seconds slipped back out and pointed at the Decepticon’s. “Actually… could you help me with bows-mows- _those_?” He was still blushing furiously, and Bob smirked.

Fixit was _interested_ , they had time to win him over.

And they _would_.


End file.
